Evaluations
by papiliondae
Summary: A Grissom pov - around early/mid S3 (G/S)


TITLE: Evaluations  
  
AUTHOR: papiliondae  
  
RATING: PG  
  
SPOILERS: None  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own them.  
  
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated. papiliondae@yahoo.com  
  
A/N: Not sure where this came from, not sure if it works, but it demanded to be written.  
  
I must say thank you so much to Midnight Caller for her marvellous beta read on this. I really appreciate it :)  
  
SUMMARY: A Grissom pov - around early/mid S3 (G/S)  
  
Evaluations... Grissom sighed; this was part of the job he would gladly trade. How to appraise his team fairly was a question that vexed him every year. There was no doubt in his mind that they were good CSI's, but evaluations, by their very nature, only gave merit to the successes, not the failures. And yet weren't the failures, the ability to admit mistakes and be open to all possibilities, a fundamental of the job? Maybe a coffee would help.  
  
He walked down the hall to the break-room, hopeful that there would be a little coffee left; Greg had only finished his shift a short while ago. Sure enough there was, and he poured it mechanically, the routine action releasing his thoughts to immediately skitter back to the last evaluation form he'd completed: Sara's. Always a remarkably thorough investigator, this year she had really matured into her role and it was something of a shock to realise that, in many ways, she was now his equal. He turned that concept over in his mind, shying away from the unease that inevitably accompanied it. No longer was there the convenient barrier between them of mentor and student, and it had left him feeling exposed and vulnerable. Many times he had to deliberately distance himself from her, in conversation or on a case, to maintain the necessary equilibrium. But instead of their friendship regaining its familiar balance, a gulf of misunderstanding and silence was steadily growing between them and he was at a loss as to how to address it. Even to completely understand what it was about her that made him care?  
  
She fascinated him, her independence and passion, the fierce intelligence that he'd been compelled to foster since their first encounter. Perhaps it was physical attraction -- she was certainly desirable with her dark eyes, mobile mouth, long legs. he quickly shook the images away. Caution and logic dictated that these were not reasons enough to put his career on the line, to risk losing one of his team, of losing Sara, if any intimate relationship foundered. Now more than ever he was acutely conscious of his limitations. Besides, he was used to being alone, removed from the banality and cruelty of human relationships. That was how he had lived for years now, how he'd carefully structured his life, with this job at its centre. He needed space to think, to be alone, to allow clarity of thought. Where now was this longing for solace and comfort springing from?  
  
He sipped his coffee, savouring the bitter burn as it flowed over his tongue, scalding down his throat. The lab was quiet, quiet enough that he could discern the hum of the strip lighting, irritating him immensely. He had missed entire portions of conversation earlier today and yet now he could hear the drone of a fluorescent tube? He quickly tamped down his frustration, he knew this was how the condition manifested; the logical approach was to evaluate his limitations and devise strategies to cope. He was satisfied that his lip reading skills were now good enough to ease him through most difficulties. As a scientist it behove him to adapt himself to his condition by the application of logic and reason.  
  
He headed back to his office, taking a moment to select and insert a cd into the portable stereo he kept near the door. Clearing a space for his cup amongst the orderly chaos of paper that was his desk, he slipped off his glasses and eased back comfortably into the chair. Music was conducive to clear thought and would calm him; he'd often wondered if it was the concentration of the conscious mind upon the task of listening that freed the sub-conscious to tackle a thorny problem, whittling away until it was deciphered. The familiar strains of Puccini swelled into the room with the mezzo-soprano's impassioned cry of unrequited love, such a futile emotion and yet so powerful. Love was something of an enigma to him; he loved his mother, his job, the science, for sure. But what was so potent about love that could cause someone to abandon every rational principle, to surrender oneself to another?  
  
Unbidden, his thoughts once again looped back to Sara. They seemed to be doing that more frequently of late, catching him off guard. He was drawn to her, that he would admit, but there was no future in it. He wasn't even sure he wanted a future filled with as many uncertainties as his now was, and certainly not to blight hers. But still he was forced to acknowledge the stab of jealous pain he felt when he overheard the gossip about Hank, Sara's boyfriend. Sara's lover? He tried to rationalise it; he had shared a close working relationship and friendship with Sara and now, perfectly naturally, her thoughts were primarily with somebody else. It was entirely reasonable that some adjustment be needed on his part. But his visceral sense of loss was not so easily explained away or hidden, just as he was sure that he couldn't quite disguise the anxiety he wore like a mantle as his hearing deteriorated. At least Sara was moving forward in her life. He'd watched her grow and mature as a woman and a CSI; she seemed more settled now, less dependant on him. Surely this should please him? A job well done, his student was spreading her wings and taking flight. The barely formed image of Sara smiling at him, only for him, was swiftly crushed.  
  
As the last plaintive notes of the aria seeped away, he inhaled deeply, sitting up, squeezing the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. Such random thoughts were not productive. If he completed these reports within - he glanced at his watch - the next half hour, then he had a good chance of leaving before Ecklie arrived. He really was in no mood for that encounter. Sliding his glasses back on he reached for the next evaluation report... Catherine. 


End file.
